


Ink & Petals

by onebatch2batch



Series: Flowershop/Tattoo Artist AU [1]
Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, F/M, Frank is a tattoo artist, Karen is a florist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-16 04:53:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13628991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onebatch2batch/pseuds/onebatch2batch
Summary: When Karen Page's grandmother suddenly passes away and leaves her a business to run in an unfamiliar city, she realizes how lonely a place can be. That is, until she develops a crush on the handsome guy that comes into her shop fairly regularly. AU. Rated M for future chapters.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If y'all haven't realized it by now, I'm god awful at coming up with titles. If anyone has a suggestion feel free to let me know lmfao.
> 
> ANYWAYS. This baby is just under 11k, it's a monster. Based on this wonderful AU photoset: http://frank-kastle.tumblr.com/post/169901832082/florist-tattoo-artist-au
> 
> Please let me know what you think in the comment, and if you like it maybe follow my tumblr @onebatch2batch :) Thank you for reading!

Having grown up in a fairly small town in Vermont, Karen Page is constantly blown away by the concrete jungle that is New York City. Even after living in the city for five months, there are still moments where she is overwhelmed by the hustle and bustle around her. It’s amazing to her that the streets here are constantly littered with people—herds of dressed up businessmen and women, teenagers talking and laughing in groups, street vendors calling out to her as she passes. It’s as if people from all walks of life had decided New York was the place to be, and they weren’t afraid to be shoved past on the sidewalk just for the opportunity to be here. It’s loud and messy and nothing like her hometown—and she _loves_ it. Sometimes she sits in the window of her apartment and gazes down into the maze of people below, guessing at their destinations, or making up their background stories in her head; she’s had more exposure to different people and cultures sitting in that window than she has her whole life living in Vermont.

Six months ago, Karen had received a particularly heartbreaking phone call at her secretary job in Vermont. Her grandmother, who had hosted her for many summers as a child in the bustling city, wasn’t doing so well. Karen had promptly packed up her life and driven straight to New York, but in less than two weeks time, her grandmother was gone and Karen was alone with a tiny apartment, and a business that she hadn’t seen coming.

Of course, Karen knew about her grandmother’s business. _Fresh Blooms_ was a small flower shop three blocks from Karen’s small apartment, bought by her grandparents ten years prior. What she didn’t know is that Darlene Page had left the store to her, along with a book of instructions on how to care for it. Her husband had died many years before, when Karen was small, and Darlene had made it a habit to take her to help in the shop when she was tall enough to reach the fridges where the flowers were kept. In preparation, Karen realizes now, as she walks to work.

And that’s where Karen Page’s real story begins.

 

\-- CHAPTER ONE --

 

The street where _Fresh Blooms_ sits is a strange agglomeration of buildings. There’s a small Catholic church, a couple of restaurants of various ethnicities and origins, a small coffee shop, a tattoo parlor, and a Laundromat. Each building is nestled up against one another as if fighting for room—or maybe fighting to grow upwards, joining the apartment buildings and skyscrapers towering above. Her building is small and homey, in a _blink and you’ll miss it_ kind of way. The mint green awning stands out above the storefront, which is decorated with dated images of flowers and kind words. The flowers had been painted onto the windows by her grandfather, and as shabby as they look, she doesn’t have the heart to touch them. 

It’s a mildly warm spring day when Karen unlocks the door to _Fresh Blooms_. As per usual, there’s a steady stream of people who pass by outside, but few who do actually come in. She’s officially been in the city for twenty-one weeks, and she celebrates this by flipping the OPEN sign in the window and stepping inside. The door closes behind her and a burst of cold air hits her, making her sigh in relief. The entire building smells of flowers—big surprise—and she basks in the familiar smell as she works her way to the front counter, depositing her bag and throwing on her apron.

It was her grandmother’s—one of many. It’s printed with dozens of tiny sunflowers, and in the pockets is her grandmother’s reading glasses and scissors, neither of which Karen has any inclination to part with. In the five months since Karen has taken over, the little shop has become her second home. Karen walks the parameter of the store, cleaning what needs cleaned, the nostalgia filling her like it does every morning.

She remembers the stern voice of her grandmother clearly as she cleans— _now dear, remember. Something like this is a big responsibility. You’re a responsible girl, aren’t you? Good—go on and sweep for me._ Darlene Page had always been a determined, independent woman. She knew what she wanted, and she made sure to instill the same belief system in her granddaughter. She was very insistent about Karen finding her own way in the world, outside of Vermont, and therefore had invited her to stay several summers during middle and high school. Karen remembers these visits fondly; the late night movie marathons, helping with the flower arrangements during the day, being quizzed on flower meanings over dinner. Her grandmother always told her she had a knack for flower arrangement, a compliment that Karen took very seriously as a child—which does well for her now, considering she hadn’t had much time to study up after Darlene’s passing. 

Although, business isn’t exactly booming. The workflow is slow, but steady, which gives her a good amount of free time. Karen uses this to her advantage—she YouTube’s flower arrangement courses, reads books on flower meanings, and when she gets tired of studying flowers, she turns to fiction.

It’s during one of her reading session that the bell above the door jingles; Karen lowers her book— _Moloka’I_ by Alan Brennert—and looks up to greet her customer. She pauses and reminds herself firmly that she’s not in Vermont anymore, and so the leather jacket-clad man in the doorway is not out of the ordinary. Karen offers him a small smile as he steps towards the counter, gaze trailing over him curiously. He’s about her height, maybe a half-inch taller, with dark hair styled into something you might see in a magazine. Karen takes in his dark jeans and soft-looking t-shirt, which seems kind of odd for the temperate weather today. His face is chiseled and handsome, with a nose that looks as if it had been broken half a dozen times. He looks like someone who would be beating someone’s ass behind a bar rather than walking into a flower shop midday on a Tuesday. Despite that, he’s got dark eyes that pull her in with their warmth, and a cautious but polite smile on his lips when he reaches the counter.

“Hey there,” he says lightly, his eyes sweeping the area behind her like he’s searching for something. “Where’s Darlene today?”

This isn’t the first person to ask about her grandmother since Karen took over. Some of her loyal customers had come in and traded stories about the woman when learning of her passing. From what Karen can gather, her grandmother’s kind nature and constant supply of cookies had won over many people during her time in New York. Karen gives the man a small, hesitant smile, which she hopes looks reassuring. “I’m so sorry, you must not have heard. My grandmother passed away. Almost six months ago, now.”

The man looks stricken, like he’s not sure what to say. There’s a pause where he jams his hands in his pockets and looks away. “I’m sorry. I, uh…last time I saw her she was fine. Baked me these gingersnap cookies, actually.”

Karen feels her smile widen and laughs quietly. She can almost taste her grandmother’s trademark cookies as she remembers them. “Yeah, that sounds like her. I’m sorry, did you know her well?”

Frank nods jerkily, shifting on his feet. “I uh, come here a lot. She was a good person. I’m sorry she’s gone.”

“Me too. I’m Karen by the way. Karen Page. I’ve taken over for her.” His sympathies tug at her, at a spot behind her eyes that makes her eyes well up. She blinks them away and pushes her book to the side.

He glances at the book and offers her a tiny smile, but the edges are frayed. “Frank Castle. Pleasure, ma’am.”

Karen pulls out a pad of paper and gives him an expectant look. “So what are you in for today, Mr. Castle?”

“Just Frank. And…just somethin’ small, if you don’t mind. If you got some blues, that would be good. Baby’s breath.” He pauses, and then drives forward after a moment of consideration. “And another too, hydrangeas.”

Karen writes it down dutifully, then marks up his total. “You know, hydrangeas were my grandmother’s favorite.”

He passes over his debit card with an odd look. “That so? I had no idea.”

She passes back his receipt and nods. “Yep. Did you want to wait for them, or come back later?”

He tells her he’ll wait and she disappears into the back. When she returns some time later, he’s leaning on the counter reading her book, and sets it down sheepishly when she comes back. She waves off his apology and hands over his bouquets. “No problem, it’s a good read. It was nice meeting you, Frank. Thanks for stopping in.”

He inclines his head, offers her a small smile. “Nice meeting you, ma’am. Thank you.”

He’s halfway across the store when she calls out, “Karen, please.”

Frank turns briefly in surprise, then hefts the bouquets and tells her, “These looks just like Darlene made ‘em. Thanks, Karen,” and then he turns and disappears out the door.

 

\--

 

Moving to the city alone brings with it plenty of joy, but also it’s fair share of problems. For example, Karen spends a lot of lonely nights attempting to fix thing around her meager apartment. She has to consult Yelp to decide whether or not she should eat at the Chinese place two doors down from her building (solid no). She walks around aimlessly in her spare time looking for something to do, and when she can’t force herself to spend money on shopping she’ll grab a coffee and visit her grandmother.

The cemetery is out of the city, out by the river. Karen treks her way up the path, knowing the route by heart, eyes glancing over the graves around her. The first time she’d been to the cemetery she’d gotten lost twice—it was absolutely huge and honestly, a little overwhelming.

It’s warm out but there’s a nice breeze that Karen is grateful for. When she gets to the area where her grandmother is buried, she feels the tension drain from her immediately. She misses her more every day, but Karen can’t help but think she’s still around, watching over her. Karen steps up to the grave and blinks in surprise at on bouquet of flowers sitting at the base. When she crouches down to inspect them, she’s struck with familiarity—it’s the soft blue hydrangeas from the other day that Frank had requested. Karen brushes her fingers over them with a wide smile.

“Wow grandma,” she murmurs, “looks like you had a visitor. And a _handsome_ one too.”

She brushes off the head of the grave absently, staring down at the flowers. Her grandmother had always been welcoming to anyone she came in contact with, but Karen wonders what exactly happened between her grandmother and this man for him to bring flowers to her grave. Regardless, she’s touched by the gesture.

Karen sits, back pressed up against the warmth stone of the grave, and pulls out her book to read. When she leaves a while later, she’s sure to tuck the flowers up against the granite, smiling.

 

\--

 

It’s another two months before Karen sees Frank again. Summer is in full swing, and just after she’d gotten to work that morning the skies had opened up and released a torrential downpour on the city. There’s a moisture that hangs in the air of the store, making her feel sticky and uncomfortable. She still sees people hurrying past the storefront but business has been slow; she’s on her second pot of coffee and midway through her book when the door jingles. She looks up, torn out of her fantasy world, and blinks in surprise.

“Hi Frank,” she greets, closing her book. “Welcome back.”

He’s drenched in rain but that does nothing to temper his smile. He brushes water off the leather of his jacket and steps forward, boots heavy on the linoleum. “Hey, Karen.”

She crosses her arms on the counter and watches him approach, smiling. “I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to thank you, actually. You didn’t have to put flowers on her grave, you know.”

He swipes his hands over his face, removing the water there, and shrugs. He’s embarrassed at being caught, if the soft blush on his cheeks tells her anything, but she’s more interested in his hands. When he had lifted them she noticed tattoos on the backs of each—an intricate peony on one, and the other a shaded skull, teeth elongated and dripping down his wrist. Across his knuckles are letters, but she can’t make them out from this distance.

“’S nothin’,” he mumbles, then catches her stare and stuff his hands into his pockets casually.

“Well, it was sweet either way.” She clears her throat and gives him an expectant look. “What brings you in today?”

He tells her about the small pink and purple bouquet he has in mind. His words are soft and eyes averted, but there’s a tender smile on his face. Karen absently thinks that she’s never had a boyfriend who consistently buys flowers for her like Frank seems to, and then promptly chastises herself. It’s none of her business what this (practical) stranger does or doesn’t do for his girlfriend. She totals up his order. “Want to wait for these too?”

When he nods, she gestures to the coffee pot behind the counter. “Help yourself to some coffee.”

A small laugh escapes him, surprising her. “Darlene always offered too. Thanks, yeah. That would be great.”

She leaves him to make himself a cup, since he’s obviously familiar with where everything is, and busies herself making his arrangement. For a moment she had considered asking about his history with her grandmother, but she decides against it at the last minute. She throws in a couple of extra roses just because, and she when she brings it out fifteen minutes later, he smiles wide.

“She’ll love it,” he says warmly, meeting her gaze. “Thank you. And thanks for the coffee.”

Karen feels a hot flicker somewhere deep when he smiles at her, and she steps on it hard. He’s obviously got someone he’s committed to; she has no business being attracted to him. Instead, she clears her throat and takes his money, then watches him leave with the hollow, lonely spot in her chest growing.

“Oh grandma,” she says once the door closes, sighing, “what have you gotten me into?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright here's chapter two!! Comments and love are always appreciated. <3

The rest of the week seems to fly by. Karen spends a good amount of time outside of her apartment after work, exploring the city. She’s seen all the tourist attractions before, but there’s still so much of the city she hasn’t experienced yet. And anyways, any time outside of her lonely apartment is time well spent.

When she closes up shop on Saturday, she realizes it’s far too hot to go wandering around the city, and resigns herself to the fact that she’ll be staying in. Summer has hit the city hard, and the humidity is seeping into her pores, determined to drown her from the inside out. Summer in New York is a lot like summer in Vermont, but the pollution and car exhaust makes her feel like dirt and grime is a second skin. She throws her hair up into a bun and takes off down the street, trying to decide what she’ll do for dinner. She’s three buildings down when she spots a familiar pair of broad shoulders and styled hair, and she nearly trips over herself.

Frank Castle is standing under the awning of a small tattoo parlor across the street, in a t-shirt and dark jeans. He’s got his phone pressed to his ear, and when he sees her he waves. He says a couple more words into the phone then shoves it in his pocket and jogs to her side of the street. There’s sweat dotting his forehead and she grows warmer just by looking at him—which is _definitely_ just because it’s hot out. Or at least, that’s what she tells herself.

“Hey,” he greets, coming to a stop in front of her. “Thanks for the flowers, they were perfect.”

Karen smiles and wipes her brow, cursing the heat. “Of course! I’m glad she liked them.” It’s a dig, she’s trying to get some answers, but he only nods and looks back at the tattoo parlor. In just a t-shirt she realizes that he’s tattooed from the hands up, until they disappear under his sleeves. She tries not to stare too hard, but her stomach flips at the way the ink curves around the thick muscles of his arms. His gaze turns back to hers and she clears her throat.

“Getting another?” she asks, nodding to the building.

Frank laughs. “Not quite. I work there, just wanted some air before my next client.” He pauses. “You see how well that’s goin’.”

There’s something to be said about the way her chest clenches at the knowledge that he works three buildings down from her. That any time she’d ever want to see him, she’d only had to poke her head out of _Fresh Blooms_ and holler. Karen feels her smile growing. “That explains all the ink,” she says lightly, gesturing to his arms.

Frank glances down and hums, then gives her a curious look. “You have any?”

Karen shakes her head, shifting her weight. The sun is beating down on them, and the heat is stifling, but this is delaying her going back to an empty apartment—and the company is worth it. She knows she shouldn’t be feeding into what is officially a crush, but she can’t help it. It’s been a while since she’s had a real conversation with anyone about anything other than flowers or her coffee order. Plus, it would pass with time, she was sure of it. “No—my hometown in Vermont didn’t even have a tattoo parlor.”

Frank rocks back on his heels and gives her a once over. “Shame. Well, uh, if you want one…feel free to stop in.”

A dark skinned man pokes his head out and calls for Frank, who gives her an apologetic look. “Sorry. Nice seein’ you, Karen.”

She watches him jog back across the street and duck back inside, then steels herself for her walk home, the casual way he says her name echoing in her head.

 

\--

 

Karen decides there is absolutely nothing better than air conditioning. She steps into her apartment and nearly cries relief at the blast of cold air that hits her. It’s quiet inside and she locks the door, and then peels off her sweaty clothes gratefully.

As she rummages for fresh clothes, she thinks of Frank’s offer. The entire walk home she had debated back and forth about taking him up on his offer to tattoo her. On the one hand, she grew up in a very conventional household. Getting a tattoo was never something that she had even considered growing up, and she’s worried that she’s only doing this because of Frank. On the other hand, she’s a grown woman who has left home to run a business in New York—she’s had so many life-changing events happen in the last year, what’s another? She repeats this to herself and tries very hard to ignore the voice in her head, saying that it would give her an excuse to spend more time with Frank. The thought of his hands on her body, inking something permanent into her skin, gives her a certain thrill she can’t name.

Karen sighs and changes into shorts and a t-shirt, thinking. It’s indecent to think of him that way—he’d been nothing but friendly to her since they met, and her she was turning his friendly offer into a daydream.

_What would I even get done?_ She wonders absently, toying with the idea. As soon as she thinks it, she knows: a hydrangea. How fitting that she would come to New York, flip her life upside-down for her grandmother, and then rebel a little in her name. Karen feels the tiniest of smiles pull at her lips. Her independent grandmother would love the idea. She’s made her mind up long before she steps out of her room to make some dinner.

Karen Page is getting a tattoo.

 

\--

 

 

The tattoo parlor that Frank works at is called _Punishing Ink_ , and it’s impeccably clean. Karen walks in the following week and lets her eyes adjust to the dark maroon walls and dark furniture, filled with curiosity. It’s nothing like the tattoo parlors in movies; the space is decorated with military memorabilia, and there are several people who turn at smile upon her entry. The first is the gentleman at the front desk. He’s a talking head of curls, and he looks as if he stepped out of his house after getting dressed in the dark.

“Hey there, I’m David,” he says to her. “Did you have an appointment?”

Karen gives him a nervous smile. “Um, no, I’m looking for Frank, actually.”

He turns and leans past his desk. “Hey, Frank! Come here for a sec!”

There’s a brief silence where David turns to look at her curiously, and then Frank walks out from the back. He sees her and perks slightly, surprised but pleased, and she’s definitely going to pretend that didn’t do things to her already-hopeless crush. “Hey, Karen. Ready for that tattoo?”

She laughs. “Actually, yeah. I thought about it and had an idea if you wanted to hear?”

Frank nods and leans on the counter curiously. “Sure, what’s the idea?”

David goes back to typing on his computer and Karen clears her throat nervously. “Hydrangeas, actually. For my grandmother.”

His grin nearly knocks her off her feet. “That’s a great idea. Where you want ‘em? Any guidelines?”

She hesitates, unsure. She had been so excited by the idea of the tattoo, she hadn’t thought about the specifics yet. “I’m not sure.”

Frank nods and straightens. “Sounds good, just think on it. I’m booked all week--how’s Saturday night?”

David glances over, and Karen doesn’t miss the look they exchange. She nods. “Sure. I’ll come by after the shop closes.”

Frank’s smile makes her light-headed. “I’ll sketch out some ideas and you can look through them when you get here. See you then.”

 

\--

 

 

Saturday night comes and Karen walks into _Punishing Ink_ with anxiousness rolling around in her stomach. She’s not nervous about the tattoo, necessarily, but more nervous about the tattooing. David at the front counter greets her then tells her to head towards the back; Frank’s waiting for her at his station.

“Hey,” he greets, and his casual tone only racks up her nervousness, but she tries for a smile.

“Hey, Frank.”

He gestures for her to have a seat, and rolls over on his stool once she’s situated. He has several papers in his hand. “Did you decide where?” he asks, glancing up at her as he rifles through the pages of sketches.

Karen takes a breath, then nods. “Yes. I think I want it on my inner arm.”

He raises a brow, amused. “Think or know? It’s kinda permanent, Karen.”

She both loves and hates the way he says her name, in that voice like gravel, laughter bleeding through his words. She straightens and nods. “I want it on my inner arm.”

He chuckles out an _attagirl_ and goes about showing her his sketches. He’s a great artist, and she has trouble deciding between them, but eventually she picks one. It’s a simple flower with a long stem, in black and white. He’s written _Darlene_ in beautiful script along the stem, and she decides its perfect, telling him as much. He huffs, embarrassed but pleased, and goes about retracing it, cleaning off her skin, and pressing the paper to her arm. His hand is warm on her skin, and she tries not to fidget as he pulls it off, moving slow.

Frank lets out a whistle and gestures. “How’s that?”

She looks down at the stencil and takes a quick breath in. “It’s perfect,” she tells him, feels her heart thump as how much she loves it.

“Good. Now keep as still as possible, alright?” He swivels, grabs his tools, and swivels back towards her. He waits for her to get comfortable in the chair, then stretches her arm against the rest and touches the needle to her skin.

The pain is instantaneous, but not as bad as she thought it would be. Karen lifts her eyes to the ceiling and squints, sucking in a breath.

“Okay?” he murmurs, head bent over her, the smell of him filling her nose.

“Okay.” She takes another calming breath and focuses on the warmth of his hand, holding her arm steady. The woodsy scent of his cologne wafts around her. Up close, she examines him as he works. He’s in another soft t-shirt today, and light colored jeans. She can see his leather jacket over a chair in the corner. His hair is untamed, curling softly against his scalp—she decides she likes it that way, and busies herself with the thought of running her fingers through it, before promptly chastising herself.

Frank is quiet next to her for a long time as he goes over the petals. The sting increases as the needle climbs up towards her armpit, and he squeezes her lower arm reassuringly when he hears the stutter in her breathing. “Tell me about the flower shop,” he requests, trying to distract her.

“You’ve been there,” she says, a little breathlessly, but she’s smiling.

“Not in the back,” he return lightly, then shoots her a grin.

Karen huffs, watching him work. “It’s small. My grandma and grandpa bought it a long time ago and refused to move or rebuild. He died when I was young, and I think that’s why she kept it that way. She loved it.”

“You miss her?”

Karen looks away, bites her lip. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

He hums quietly in understanding, stretches his neck and leans back over her. There’s a woman watching them from the front counter, with dark eyes and a puzzled look. She meets Karen’s gaze and offers a small smile, knowing she’s been caught looking, and then turns to continue her conversation with David.

Karen looks away, suddenly awkward. The woman had been looking at her knowingly, like she was fully aware of everything going on in Karen’s head. She attempts her own distraction. “So, um, how long have you worked here?”

“Ahh, since it opened, actually.” His eyes flick up to hers, and back down. “It’s a good place to work. Good employees.”

“You know them well?”

Frank bobs his head, eyes on her arm. “I do. Was in the Marines with Curt over there. Dinah up front used to be some badass in Homeland, decided it was time for retirement. And David up front runs the books. He’s a good guy.”

“Just the four of you?” She asks curiously.

“Mhm. Had someone else but, uh…didn’t end well.” He pauses, expression stormy, then clears his throat and continues. “So just us. Quality over quantity y’know?”

They continue on with conversation for a while longer and just as it had begun, it was suddenly over. Frank straightens and examines his handiwork, then flashes her a small smile. “What do you think?”

Karen lifts her arm and stares at it, feels the emotion welling up and choking her. _Darlene_ is dark against her skin, the flower just as much, and she thinks if she never gets another tattoo, this is enough. She sniffles and dashes at her eyes, embarrassed. “It’s beautiful, Frank. I love it.”

He smiles, pleased. “Glad you think so. It was a good idea.” He laughs. “And that’s a rough place to get tattooed, especially for your first time. You took it like a champ.”

Karen laughs, watery. “Thanks. My mom used to say I get that from grandma.”

Frank’s expression is warm and empathetic. He thumbs his nose and sets his tools aside. “I can see that.”

Karen stands, a little wobbly, and Frank catches her hand to steady her. He smirks, amused. “Didn’t eat before you came, huh?”

Karen shakes her head and blinks. She’s dizzy and there’s a pain behind her eyes she hadn’t noticed before. His fingers tighten on hers and she takes a deep breath, thinking. After work she had come straight here, and there wasn’t much time for a lunch break so she’s hasn’t eaten in hours. “No, not yet. Should I have?”

He sits her down and rolls to his workstation, pulling out a granola bar and tossing it to her. “Yeah. Adrenaline gets goin’ and then stops all the sudden, it’ll make you dizzy. Eat that.”

Karen takes a bite gratefully and busies herself looking around. “So how much do I owe you?”

Frank is shaking his head before she even finishes her sentence. “Don’t worry bout it. On me.”

Karen huffs, incredulous. “Frank, come on.”

“Nah. Think of it as a tribute to Darlene.”

Her objections cut off, and she worries her bottom lip, glancing around. “Won’t you get in trouble with your boss?”

Frank’s smile is filled with humor, and he crosses his arms, watching her. “I’m sure he wont mind. I do a lot around here, anyway.”

It feels wrong accepting a gift like this from someone who is essentially a stranger. It feels doubly wrong to accept it from Frank, with her ever-growing crush and his unnamed girlfriend in the picture. Nevertheless, she looks back down at the tattoo etched into her skin and feels herself filled with warmth. She meets his eyes again and nods. “Okay. Thank you, Frank.”

Maybe next time he comes into her store his flowers will be on her, then.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He tilts his head, as if considering her words. “Don’t know many people around here?”
> 
> It’s not a judgment; she shakes her head and shrugs. “No, I was so busy with the funeral and taking over the business, I didn’t have much time to make friends.”
> 
> “Is that what we are?”
> 
> Karen meets his eyes, and there’s a beat where his gaze drop down just enough for her breath to stutter. She swallows nervously and gives him a small smile. “I’d like to think so. Right?”

Karen is starting to get the hang of living alone in New York. She’s found when it’s safe to wander around by herself, she knows the best restaurants within a five block radius, and Youtube has been especially useful in fixing things around her apartment. She starts going back to the gym again, if only to kill time, and spends a good amount of time sunbathing on her fire escape with a book. 

The loneliness is still there, however. She doesn’t hear much from Frank over the next two weeks, and in fact she’s caught herself searching the front window of _Punishing Ink_ on her walk home numerous times, looking for his familiar hard jaw and broad shoulders. It’s a Wednesday when she does finally see him again, but this time he’s different.

He walks in the door of the store and his expression is carefully blank. His hair is mussed and eyes rimmed red, and his voice is hoarse when he speaks. “Hey, Karen.”

Karen looks up and her heart seizes at the absolutely misery in his tone. “Hi, Frank…is everything okay?”

He runs a hand over his face and sighs. “Yeah. Just need a bouquet. Uh…somethin’ big. And white.”

Karen can’t say she knows Frank well, but something makes her pause. She taps her pen nervously, debating on pushing further. “Coffee?” she asks to fill the silence, to pull some words from him. He nods, though, and leans against the counter. Karen turns away and makes him a cup—black, like he always has—then says quietly, “You want to talk about it?” This doesn't seem like the Frank she's come to know--this Frank seems like he hasn't slept in days.

For a moment he doesn’t look at her, just starts down at the cup. Then he takes a breath and looks up at her. “Thought….thought Darlene told you. Uh, my wife and kids they—they died four years ago today. Car crash. That’s why…I’m in here so much.” He laughs humorlessly. “I was in the Marines, I’ve lost people before but uh….this is different. Didn’t know how to grieve, y’know? So I just--…started buying flowers. For birthdays, and anniversaries, and…today.”

Karen covers her mouth, horrified. This whole time she’s been pining over this man who is just trying to get over the deaths of his family. She feels like the biggest jerk; her hearts twists uncomfortably. “Frank, I’m—I’m so sorry.”

He shakes his head and takes a drink of his coffee. The hard line of his shoulders are tense, and the bags under his eyes seem to grow by the minute. She hesitates, and then steps around the counter and walks to the front door, flipping the sign to closed. “Come on,” she tells him gently at his wary look. “You can help me make it, if you want. Or watch. Or stay here, whatever you want.”

The surprise in his expression temporarily suspends his misery, and he follows her back to her workspace. Having someone other than her in the back should feel strange, but Karen notes that it’s the opposite. Helping him pick out the flowers, standing shoulder to shoulder at the table, feels natural. While they work, he tells her how every year he’d walk in and Darlene would already have a big, beautiful bouquet ready for him--and a casserole too. “Sometimes cookies,” he laughs quietly, but there's a hard edge to it that makes her feel worse than before.

After half an hour of arranging and rearranging flowers where Karen acts as a guide, there’s a bouquet that takes her breath away. “Would you look at that, you’re a natural,” she tells him, trying for a smile.

He gives her a grateful look, and then stares back down at the bouquet, brows furrowed. “Had a lot of practice. Lotta flowers.”

She nods in understanding, and brings him back out front. “Well, I don’t have a casserole for you. Even if I did, you’d probably toss it after one bite. But I do have the power to say those are on me.” She hesitates, then touches his arm comfortingly. “I hope—I hope they like them,” she says shyly. He hefts the flowers in his arms and gives her a tender smile.

“I appreciate your help, Karen. Thank you again,” he says softly, and then he’s out the door and down the street, and Karen forgets to switch the sign to open for a long time after.

 

\--

 

Autumn has arrived in New York and Karen decides there’s at least one thing she misses about Vermont—the colors of the turning trees. There’s a slight chill in the air today, just enough that she was forced to grab a jacket before leaving the apartment this morning. It’s twenty minutes to close when the door jingles above the door and Frank Castle pokes his head in, keeping something big around his legs from getting in.

“How you feel about dogs in here?” he asks when she looks up, and at her encouragement he steps in with a dark colored pitbull.

Karen gasps and steps around the counter, immediately crouching down to pet the overexcited dog. “Who is _this_?” she asks happily as the dog leans up to sniff her face, tail (and therefore butt) wiggling eagerly.

“Name’s Max,” Frank says with a smile, watching them.

“Hi Max!” Karen coos. “What a good boy…oh, Frank. He’s so cute! Why haven’t you brought him in before?”

Frank chuckles. “Not sure, wrong timing maybe. But I uh, I wanted to stop by and apologize. For last week. I was…kind of a mess.”

Karen stands and wipes her hands on her apron, frowning. “You don’t have to apologize for anything. I was happy to help, and I…I was just worried about you. I'm glad you're doing better.” The admission brings heat to her cheeks and she clears her throat, walking back around the counter to hide it.

Frank’s eyes follow her, and he pets Max’s head absently. “Well…we were just goin’ on a walk. Wanna join us?”

Karen blinks at him, feels a slow smile stretch across her lips without her permission. There’s a certain glint in Frank’s eyes that she hasn’t seen before, and he has a small, almost nervous smile. She nods and tosses her apron on a chair. “That sounds nice, actually. As long as there’s coffee involved.”

Frank laughs. “I think we can arrange that.”

He and Max wait patiently for her to finish closing up, and then fifteen minutes later they’re side by side on the sidewalk. Max trots a couple steps ahead of them, never pulling on his leash, ears perked at the people around them. They stop at a small coffee shop just long enough to grab some coffee and then continue on, making their way down the sidewalk.

“How long have you had Max?” Karen asks curiously as they walk, trying to focus on something other than the heat of Frank’s body at her side.

He hums, thinking. “Three years. Got him as a pup. Took him to the obedience classes and everything. Figured I needed somethin’ to…come home to. After, I mean.”

Karen nods, taking a drink of her coffee. She’s trying to picture a different Frank Castle, a husband and father coming home after a long day of work. It’s hard to see, and so she shakes away the thought and changes subjects. “So…can I ask?” she starts, and he turns to look at her questioningly. “ _Punishing Ink_? _Punisher_ on your knuckles? What’s the deal?” She had noticed it while they were getting coffee, the stamp across his fingers giving her pause.

Frank throws back his head and laughs. “Ahh, it’s kind of an inside joke. That’s what they used to call me in the Marines. _The Punisher_. I hated it at first, y’know? Then I just had to embrace it. Curt suggested the name for the shop, and I couldn’t think of anythin’ better.”

Karen grins at him. The idea of Frank Castle as anything other than tattooed dog dad who gives away free ink feels strange. “What are your other tattoos?”

He raises his brows, thinking. “Got a dinosaur for my girl, Lisa. She loved the damn things. Frankie Jr. drew me a race car once, had that traced over. Got some lyrics on my ribs for—for Maria. A classic pin up, too, and got my kids’ writing on my wrists. You kinda lose track after that.”

She hums curiously, turning back to the sidewalk. It’s obvious how much he loves and misses his family, and it makes her heart break a little when he says their names. She’s lost people before—her brother, her grandparents—but she can’t ever imagine a loss like that. It brings her to silence. Max stops at a hydrant in front of them and they slow to a stop, waiting. Frank’s elbow touches her side gently.

“Hey,” he mumbles, “I’m not freakin’ you out, right? Talking about them?”

Karen meets his eyes—dark, worried, kind, nervous—and she gives him a reassuring smile. “No, not at all. I was just…thinking. There’s a lot about you I don’t know.”

Frank’s expression clears, and then brightens slightly. Max trots ahead and they start walking again, and he turns to smile at her. “We can fix that,” he tells her, and Karen feels her heart flip over. “What do you want to know?”

 

\--

 

It’s late by the time they stop at her apartment; the streetlights have come on and the temperature has dropped enough that she’s ready to be inside. Karen stops in front of her building and reaches down to pet Max, putting off their goodbye.

In the few hours they’ve been walking, she’s learned so much about Frank. She learned that he began his military career at eighteen, got married shortly after. That he enjoys cooking, and got into tattooing at the suggestion of his wife, just before she died. That he’s lived in New York all his life, and he couldn’t imagine living elsewhere. That he’s a big reader, and especially enjoys the classics. She’s told him about growing up in Vermont, about visiting her grandmother during the summers, and about the accident that killed her brother. She’s surprised to find the usual pain of talking about her brother is still there, but lessened somehow, as if his own experiences with death are enough to temper the pain.

Frank is watching her now, hands shoved in his pocket. He rocks back on his heels and glances up at her building. “This is you, huh?” he asks casually.

Karen nods and straightens, glancing up. “Yep, this is me. I uh….thank you. For the walk, I mean. It’s nice to have someone to talk to.”

He tilts his head, as if considering her words. “Don’t know many people around here?”

It’s not a judgment; she shakes her head and shrugs. “No, I was so busy with the funeral and taking over the business, I didn’t have much time to make friends.”

“Is that what we are?”

Karen meets his eyes, and there’s a beat where his gaze drop down just enough for her breath to stutter. She swallows nervously and gives him a small smile. “I’d like to think so. Right?”

"Yeah. Yeah, right." Frank's smile is lagged, and she doesn't have time to puzzle over the look on his face before he wipes it off. Max whines at their feet, staring between them. Karen laughs and pets him one more time, and gestures.

“I should get going.” 

Frank pulls his hands out of his pockets and opens his mouth, then clears his throat and looks away. He tries for casual but she can see the nervousness on his face. “Sure, sure. Thanks for coming, tonight.”

She knows this is ridiculous. They’re both standing there, unmoving, the tension building between them. She can feel it, knows he feels it too, and yet—she steps back anyways, towards the door. His lidded gaze follows her. “You too. Good night, Frank.”

“Good night, Karen.”

She feels his eyes on her back until the door swings closed behind her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are my friends. 11k words later, it's finished. Thank you so much for all of the love and support, every one of you rocks my word. Tell me what you think with a comment, or send me love on tumblr! I don't bite. :)
> 
> Enjoy!!

After their romantic, not-romantic walk, Karen isn’t sure how to act. Frank stays to his side of the street and she to hers, and she tries not to think of the way he looked at her outside of her apartment building that night. Unlike her initial thought, her crush has only grown and she spends a large part of her day thinking of him. She wonders at his question— _is that what we are?_ —and then wonders at the look he’d given her answer—had it been disappointment, or was she just imagining it? The overthinking starts to drive her a little crazy, so she does everything she can to stray away from it. 

She’s sitting at the counter reading her current book— _Memoirs of a Geisha_ —when the landline rings. She reaches out and cradles the phone to her ear, dog earring the page. “ _Fresh Blooms_ , this is Karen. How can I help you?”

There’s a pause, then an awkward laugh. “ _Hey, Karen. It’s Frank_.”

Karen straightens in her chair, eyes flickering up to glance at the door. Her heart starts to beat a little quicker. “Hey, Frank. What’s up?”

“ _Well, uh, I’d walk over there but I’m booked today. Back to back. Anyways, I wanted to tell you we’re going drinking after work and…wanted to know if you’d like to come_.” His voice is hesitant; she can hear people talking in the background.

Karen smiles. “Oh yeah?"

“ _Yeah, I mean, if you have nothin’ else to do. Just gonna be the four of us._ ” He chuckles. “ _No Max this time_.”

She clicks her tongue, voice teasing. “Oh wow, see that’s kind of a deal-breaker…my friendship is conditional.”

The tension in his voice breaks and he laughs. “ _Well, not much I can do there. What if I buy you a drink instead_?”

“Hm…I think that’s a pretty solid offer, Castle. I’m in.”

She tells herself he doesn’t sound relieved when he breathes out a, “ _Great. I’ll pick you up after close_.”

 

\--

 

That night, Karen and Frank step into the bar two blocks down and are immediately greeting by his coworkers in the corner. The walk from the store had been nice, and he had warned her about what was going to happen.

“We do this every other week,” he’d said with a smile. “And just a warning—everyone gets hammered. Myself included. Sorry in advance.”

Karen had laughed. “I’m interested to see how that goes,” she had teased, poking his arm.

Frank smirked at her and her heart had stuttered at the heat there. When they walked into the bar and sat down, her cheeks were still warm from his gaze. She’s introduced officially to the group.

Curtis is first. He greets her with a smile, and tells her that he’s the specialist in black and white tattoos, but he has a healthy appreciation for Frank’s work. Dinah is the woman who had looked at her before; she’s a little more stand-offish than Curtis, but Karen suspects it’s a force of habit from her time in Homeland. Frank tells her Dinah is an expert in old fashioned pin-ups, and she had done his. David comes back to the table with a tray of shots, and after they’ve all thrown them back, he tells her that Frank’s an asshole but okay guy, and also that he’s sorry for the loss of her grandmother.

Karen smiles and offers to buy the next round.

 

\--

 

Frank’s friends, Karen decides, are great people. Curtis tells her stories about their time in the Marines, Dinah begins to relax around her third drink and gets a little mischievous, and David starts singing Disney songs that he tells her his kids watch all the time.

Frank, on the other hand, gets very physical. He sits close to her, throws his arm over the back of her chair, leans in to whisper things in her ear. His knee is a comforting warmth touching her own, and every once in a while she feels his fingers circling a lock of her hair. Karen’s four drinks in when she excuses herself to the bathroom, and Dinah offers to go with.

They stumble into the bathroom, laughing, and when they’re washing their hands, Karen looks up to see Dinah contemplating her in the mirror. Karen raises her brows. “What’s up, Dinah?”

The shorter woman huffs a laugh and grabs a paper towel. “Just wondering—are you two a thing, yet?”

Karen blinks, processing the words slowly through her alcohol haze. “Wait…what?”

“You and Frank. I’m taking that as a no.” Dinah sighs and lifts her eyes. “He never listens to me.”

Karen hears the nervous laugh escape her. “What are you talking about?”

There’s that mischievous look again; Dinah waves a hand and opens the door. “Nothing, forget I said anything. Come on, it’s David’s turn to buy a round and if we’re not there we’re definitely on our own, the cheapskate.”

They join the group at the table and Karen glances at Frank, who’s got his brow furrowed at her curiously. He leans in. “You okay? Dinah didn’t do her interrogation thing in there, right?”

“Nope.” Karen tries for a smile but knows he isn’t fooled; he takes a drink and watches her suspiciously, before he glances at Dinah and huffs.

David returns with another tray moments later. “Alright, guys. Here we go—martini for Dinah, beer for Curtis, whiskey for Frank, vodka soda for our esteemed guest, Karen. How ‘bout a toast, huh? To…Frank! Or as we like to call him, the best asshole boss around.”

“Easy, Lieberman,” Frank chuckles, and Karen turns to him questioningly as everyone else drinks.

“You’re the owner?” she mutters to him, and is rewarded with a wide smile.

“Oh yeah, did I forget to mention?”

Karen snorts, then laughs, knocks his knee with her own. “What else you hiding, Castle?”

His gaze is hot on hers; his hand cups her shoulder warmly. She takes a quick breath at the unmistakable look in on his face as he murmurs, “Not hidin’ anythin’ from you, ma’am.” 

Curtis coughs from the other side of the table, breaking them out of their stare. “So uh, Karen—how’s the tattoo treating you?”

She flushes and turns away from Frank, taking a drink of her vodka soda to steady her nerves. “I really like it! Frank did a good job. I was actually thinking about maybe getting another.”

Dinah gives her a little smirk. “Uh-oh, we know that look. Frank’s created a monster. You’re not gonna stop after this.”

Frank laughs next to her, and Karen huffs in amusement. “Is that how it goes? Get one and then you want more?”

David holds his hands up. “That’s why I don’t have any. Once I start I wouldn’t stop.”

Curtis makes a noise of annoyance. “You couldn’t handle a tattoo, Lieberman, don’t try to fool us.”

They bicker back and forth as Karen settles back against her chair. This is what she’s been missing; the easy companionship of having friends to drink with. Her friends back home call occasionally, but she knows it’s hard to keep up friendship long distance, so she can’t blame them pulling away. Karen swirls her glass in thought, watching as Dinah tells David _I’ll pay you $100 to get one tattoo without turning into a blubbering wuss, Leebs,_ and realizes for the first time in a long time she’s actually happy.

Eventually David throws up his hands with a scowl. “You’re all assholes. All of you—except you, Karen. I’m outta here, I got a hot wife at home who _isn’t_ mean to me, thanks very much.”

Curtis snickers and stands along with the other man. “I should make sure he gets home alright. Everybody good?”

Dinah nods and finishes off her drink. “My place is on the way, mind if I tag along?”

And that’s how Frank and Karen find themselves sitting alone at a table at nearly midnight, staring at one another from hardly a foot away. Frank’s expression is relaxed and tender as he looks at her.

“Want to get out of here?” he asks, and she nods.

His hand slides into hers and pulls her up out of her chair. They shrug on their coats and then step outside, the brisk autumn air pushing them close together. Karen hesitates, then loops her arm through his and steps closer.

Frank smiles and presses a hand over her arm as they start towards her apartment. “So, what did you think?”

Karen hums contentedly as they walk in tandem. “I like your friends,” she tells him. “Thank you for inviting me.” 

“My pleasure,” he rumbles, voice deep in her ear. “Glad you came.”

Her place isn’t far, and within twenty minutes they’re on her front stoop again, although this time she is pulled towards him rather than away. The street is empty around them, and the wind dies down a little and he’s looking at her like he’s trying to find the right words, so Karen leans forward and snatches them from his lips before he can voice them.

Even in the small daydreams she allowed herself, it wasn’t this good. She would have never imagined the small zap of electricity that shot down her spine when his lips touched her. She would have never, ever thought that his arm around her, his hand cupping her cheek, would spur such want inside her.

“Come upstairs,” she says against his mouth, his beard scratching against her cheeks lightly.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, laughing softly.

In the elevator ride up, she forces her arms to stay at her sides. In the warped metal of the door she can see his head turned imperceptibly in her direction; it’s subtle and sexy and she can’t believe that something to mundane is making her head spin like this.

Once they’re inside her apartment, Karen tosses her jacket on a chair and toes off her shoes, nervousness flitting around her. Frank’s presence is like a beacon behind her; she hears the sound of his boots hitting the floor, the dropping of his jacket on the couch. Every move he makes builds the tension in her and the air thickens around them, swirling above their heads as she turns to look at him.

“Hi,” she says, suddenly shy with the way he’s staring at her.

He smiles and takes a step closer, raising a hand to cup her face. “Hey,” he says softly, then tilts his head and kisses her again. It starts softly, just lips on lips, and then Karen wraps an arm around his neck and the taste of whiskey is on her tongue and his hands dip lower, lower, cup her ass and pull her against him fully. Karen let out a soft sigh, dragging her nails over his scalp.

“Been wanting this for a while,” he informs her once his lips have descended lower, nibbling at the juncture of her shoulder.

Karen feels the laughter bubbling up in her; not only is she ticklish, but the relief is making her dizzy. She wants to ask so many questions—why he didn’t earlier, why now, why he’s looking at her like that, like he wants to undress her right here in the living room. Instead, she dusts her fingers down his arm and wraps his hand in hers, smiling coyly.

“Come with me,” she says softly, tugging him towards her bedroom. He follows her, eyes dark, watching every movement with high intensity. She turns him and pushes gently, causing him to sit, then reaches up and tugs off her shirt.

Frank tugs her closer by the belt loops of her jeans, kissing below her belly button as his fingers make quick work of her zipper. He pulls at her jeans and dips his head lower, mouthing at her hipbone, and Karen sighs, carding her fingers through his hair. It’s as soft as she’d imagined, and he hums in pleasure at the sensation. Karen lets her hands drop and tugs at the fabric of his shirt insistently.

“Your turn,” she laughs, and he flashes her a grin before dropping his shirt at her feet. She takes half a second to appreciate the dark ink of his tattoos against his tanned skin—the race car, the dinosaur, words on his side, all of them and more joining together to form a litany of art on his body. She wants to trace them with her tongue, and the thought spurs her into action; her bra drops to the floor.

Karen kicks off the rest of her pants and then places a knee on either side of his hips, sinking onto his lap unceremoniously. His jeans are rough against her legs, and she leans down to kiss him again as she works the button of his pants. His breathing is soft and stuttered against her lips and his fingers dig into her hips just enough. In no time his pants are off and he lies back, watching as she grinds down on his lap, feeling him harden beneath her.

“Ahh, fuck, Karen,” he hisses, and she laughs softly as he stares up at her, eyes sparkling with want.

“What are you going to do about it, Castle?” she teases, then lets out a gasp when he grabs her hips and flips her. He hovers above her just long enough to kiss her soundly, then kisses his way down her chest, over her stomach, and to the softness of her inner thigh. She watches him, watches him toy with the edge of her underwear, feels him brush against where she’s already wet for him. Only the arm across her hips stops her hips from bucking up, and then he’s yanking down her underwear and pressing her mouth to her, tongue lapping at her, finger pressing into her deliciously, making her croon and cry out. She tugs on his hair desperately, vision going white, and he continues his ministrations until she’s crying out his name.

After, she lies there and feels him cover her body with his, caging her head. She doesn’t realize her eyes are closed until he presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “Alright?” he asks, voice full of mirth.

Karen opens her eyes and peers up at him, a little breathless. Her body is tingling, and yet the feeling of his hardness pressed up against her is building pressure deep in her belly once again. She yanks him down and slots her mouth over his, drags her hand down and caresses him through his underwear. He huffs a breath, breaking away and jerking his hips against her.

“Condoms. In my drawer,” she says, gesturing to the nightstand.

Frank grins and presses a kiss to her temple, then rolls over and rifles through the drawer, pulling out a condom. She takes a moment to appreciate him while he’s distracted, the hard lines of his body, the way his muscles twitch and move gracefully under her gaze. When he rolls back he gives her a wide smile, noting where her eyes are. “Like what you see?” he laughs, and she drags her nails down his chest lightly, smirking.

“Definitely.”

His expression darkens, and in moments he’s rolled the condom on and is pressed into her with a soft grunt. Karen lets out a slow breath, letting her head drop back as she gets used to the feeling of him filling her up. He bumps his nose against her jaw, pressing a kiss against her neck, beard ticking her until she erupts into laughter again.

He pulls away just enough to grin wickedly, then slides out and back in sharply, hitting a spot that makes her whimper. “Ohh, Frank.”

“Mhmm,” he agrees, thrusting into her slowly, deeply, enough that she’s babbling but she’s not sure about what. He begins to pick up the pace and Karen wraps her legs around his waist, arching up to meet his thrusts. Frank grunts and uses one arm to brace her against him, the other against her headboard as he rocks his hips forward.

The pressure builds up until she’s breathing out his name over and over— _Frank Frank Frank please_ —and then stars flash in her eyes and her body turns to jelly, and then Frank’s hips jerk twice and there’s warmth, and then he collapses to the side, spent.

There’s a second’s pause, and then he pulls out of her and ties off the condom, tossing it into the garbage by her nightstand. When he rolls back to her she turns to look at him, fingers splayed over his chest. He searches her expression, eyes half-lidded and relaxed smile tugging up the corner of his mouth, then leans over and kisses her again, lazily. Karen returns the kiss, pulls him to her and brushes his hair away from his face, laughing.

“I need a shower,” she tells him after a few moments, shifting to drape her top half over him. Frank raises his eyebrows, amused.

“You’re gonna have to give me a moment, here, ma’am,” he chuckles. “I’ve just been thoroughly taken advantage of.”

Karen snorts, bracing her chin on her arm. She tilts her head and watches as his eyes slip closed, his fingers dancing over her spine lightly. “Taken advantage of my ass,” she huffs.

Frank peeks an eye open and she squeals when his fingers pinch her ass quickly. “This ass?” he questions curiously, then dissolves into laughter at her scandalized expression.

“Frank Castle,” she says huffily with a smile, and then rolls off him and stands, glancing over her shoulder. “I’m showering. You coming, or you just going to fall asleep?”

His returning grumble tells her enough, and she’s turning on the water when she feels his hands on her hips, lips on her shoulder. Karen smiles and ignores him, and then manages to get them both in the shower before his lips are on hers once more.

 

\--

 

Karen wakes the next morning to the shrill sound of her alarm. She groans and rolls over, but the bed next to her is cold and empty. She opens her eyes disappointedly. When she sits up, Frank’s clothes are gone and hers are stacked neatly on the chair in the corner. It makes her smile, until she realizes there’s no sound from the other room, which means he’s left already.

She stands and lets out a soft sigh at the pleasant soreness of her body, then steps into the bathroom to observe the damage. She’s got a couple red marks over her skin, but other than that nothing that would be too hard to cover. She leans on the counter and brushes her teeth, shivers going down her spine as she thinks of the night before. 

They may have both been a little drunk, but Karen has never been so well-fucked in her life.

She sighs and spits, then rinses and spits again. By the time she’s turned on the coffee pot, there’s a sound in the hall and then she hears keys in the lock. Her gaze turns to the door where Frank is stepping in, and he meets her eyes in surprise.

“You’re awake,” he says, then grins and steps over, depositing a bag on the counter. It smells heavenly, and one look inside shows a rather large breakfast of eggs and bacon, some toast and pancakes. He sets a coffee down next to it and frowns at the running coffee pot. “I had to go ‘n check on Max. Picked you up breakfast.” He pauses at her baffled look, then continues shyly. “Usually I’d make it but…” 

“I didn’t think you’d be coming back,” she says slowly. He’s changed clothes and looks freshly showered, and his brows pull up at her words.

“Course I did.” He softens, stepping closer and brushing her hair from her face. “Sorry, I wasn’t there when you woke up.”

She tilts her head up and smiles, pressing a kiss to his lips. “It’s okay,” she murmurs. “Thanks for breakfast. Are you staying to share?”

Frank lets out a sigh and rubs his neck. “Nah, I gotta go and make sure Lieberman didn’t die of alcohol poisoning. But…can I call you? Later?”

His soft question makes her heart thud painfully. She nods and gives him a playful look. “Maybe I could even give you my cell number.” Frank chuckles, handing over his phone. Once she’s input her name and number, she places it back in his hand and leans against the counter thoughtfully. “Sure you can’t stay just for…a while?”

His eyes drift down as her robe slips open and he groans, putting his hands up. “Jesus woman, you’re gonna kill me. I’m tryin’ to be a responsible business owner here. How bout a raincheck?”

Karen sighs, disappointed. “Raincheck it is.”

Frank smiles softly, pulling her towards him by the hips and kisses her, tasting of toothpaste and coffee. She hums into his mouth, feels his hands caress her with rough fingertips that send shockwaves down her spine. When he pulls away his eyes are mischievous.

“I’ll call you,” he promises, stepping away. Karen feels the heat of him leaves her and shivers, pulling the robe tighter.

“You better,” she calls when he tosses her keys on the counter. He laughs again and disappears out the door with a wink.

Karen turns and opens the breakfast container, suddenly ravenous.

 

\--

 

For the first part of the morning, _Fresh Blooms_ is ridiculously busy. Karen is knee deep in customers until well past noon, and until then she doesn’t have much of a chance to think about Frank—but she does. She takes down customer orders and creates arrangement and hums, thinking of his mouth on her, his hands searching her skin, his eyes sparkling playfully as he teases her. When she finally has a break from customers she sits at the cashier and takes a breath, telling herself she needs to really get her life together.

_It’s a guy. Who you slept with. Who you have a crush on. Not like this hasn’t happened before. I’m sure he’ll call, and until then I need to chill._

The store’s phone rings next to her, making her jump, Karen lets out a breath and picks up the phone, clearing her throat. “ _Fresh Blooms_ , this is Karen. How can I help?”

“ _Yeah, uh…I need some flowers_.” The voice on the other line is stood-in-my-kitchen-this-morning familiar, and Karen lets out a warm laugh.

“Oh yeah?” She hums, leaning on the counter with a smile. “What kind of flowers?”

Frank’s voice is playfully pensive. “ _I was thinking….roses_?”

“Mhm,” Karen disagrees. “Not roses. What are you trying to say with these flowers?”

“ _I was thinking…that I had a really good time last night with this incredible woman. And I wanted to tell her as much, y’know_?” He’s smiling, she can hear it. She holds her breath to stop herself from laughing. “ _But I forgot to ask what kind of flowers she likes_.”

“How dare you,” she says, smiling. “Well, if she’s smart, and good in bed…I’d go tulips.”

There’s a pause, then Frank laughs loud into the phone. “ _Tulips it is_.”

Karen softens, glancing up at the door. The ache to see him is so strong it’s making he knees weak. “You’re such a dork,” she says affectionately. “Am I going to see you again soon?”

Frank huffs into the phone. _“Well, I was plannin’ on asking you to dinner, you know, as a real date. You kinda ruined the surprise, though.”_

“Mmm, sorry.” Karen listens as someone who sounds suspiciously like David yells in the background something that sounds like _Frank, quit flirting and get over here—your customer just walked in!_ and Frank sighs.

 _“Tonight?”_ He asks hopefully back into the phone. _“My place—I’ll cook you dinner?”_

Karen smiles, scratching at the wood of the counter. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. That sounds great.”

_“Alright, I gotta go. I’ll text you later, yeah?”_

“Yeah. Bye, Frank.”

A pause, then softly: _“See you soon.”_

Karen hangs up the phone and looks around the small store, empty but for herself. For once, the emptiness doesn’t bother her, and the loneliness seems far off, like a distance memory. She steps into the back and begins to make a bouquet, throwing some roses and tulips together just because. And there, at the center of her mismatched little bouquet, she puts a hydrangea and shoots a smile upwards. As much as she misses her grandmother, there’s a small nagging in the back of her mind that suggests her grandma had an idea this would happen, and had planned for it.

Karen touches the hydrangea with a soft smile, then brings the bouquet up front to display on the counter. It sits there beside the old cash register, the reading glasses Karen had left there for safe keeping, and her book. She looks around the store and feels her heart swell at the comfort, the familiarity of the place. As big of a risk moving to New York was, she knows now that this…

 

This is home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Oh and P.S there may be a series of drabbles based on this, I have a couple ideas. Or maybe even....a sequel???? :D)


End file.
